


Perchance

by Alethia



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was someone out there in control of her life, this was not funny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 3.03 "Wichita Linebacker." Veronica POV. Originally posted [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/232838.html).

If there was someone out there in control of her life, this was not funny. She’d like to lodge a protest, a formal complaint, a petition for redress, literally in this case.

No, the fact that she was naked but for the hand-towel she’d managed to grab on her way out of the locker room, cowering behind a cardboard mock-up of their dear mascot, deep in the bowels of the athletic building late at night was most emphatically _not funny_.

Nor was the fact that she could hear someone walking toward her— _whistling_ —the squeaking sound of wheels dragging along faux-tile complementing the symphony of doom fast approaching.

It could be worse. She could be at Stanford, hiding behind a cut-out of that stupid tree and really, it was a short jump from the tree to bush jokes, so she should count herself lucky. Except, if she were at Stanford, she probably wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.

No luck for her, the guy—definitely a guy, _fantastic_ —didn’t turn down the corridor just beyond the bend where she hid. Maybe whoever it was wouldn’t notice the naked girl behind the cardboard cut-out. It could happen.

“Why, Veronica Mars. And I thought this only happened in pornos.” Weevil. In janitorial blues, cocking his head and blinking at what he’d just stumbled into.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, slumping a little against the wall, but still ensuring not to move either arm, the one covering her breasts nor the one pressing the towel to her hips. The concrete against her back made her shiver even as she blushed. She couldn’t help it—boy checking her out when she hadn’t meant to be seen—but still. If it had to be someone, Weevil was better than pretty much anyone she could imagine. 

“Not the reaction I was expecting,” he said, smiling slightly as he took a few steps closer, mop and bucket trailing behind him, clasped in a forgotten hand. “More like ‘oh, baby, take me now. Do you pole-dance?”

“See any poles around here?” she asked, automatic.

Weevil looked down at himself, raising his eyebrows as he looked back up to her. “I’m resourceful.”

“I’d like to test that theory. How about, say, by seeing if you can find me a towel.” Yeah, it was Weevil, but it was also _Weevil_ , who had eyes and a mouth on him and who seemed to be having a grand old time checking out every inch of exposed skin. Which, considering her state of undress, was a _lot_. “And can you stop _looking_ at me like that?” she asked, trying to shrink in on herself.

“First off, I’m a guy and I stumbled over a hot naked chick. Not happening. And second,” he paused, eyes trailing down to the hand towel doing its pathetic job of covering a lot of what she didn’t want him to see, “looks like you already got a towel there,” he finished, looking back up to her eyes on a smirk.

He was _enjoying_ this. Oh, he was so gonna pay. Just as soon as she got some leverage in this situation.

“A bigger one. One that is not the size of an 09er bikini and that covers just as much.”

“Shame,” he mused, eyes sweeping over her again. But then the moment broke and he looked around, seeming to remind himself that they were in the locker rooms, late at night, and she was _naked_. “Gee, a locker room. Wonder where I’d find a towel.”

“ _Boys_ locker room with boys inside. Are we putting two and two together?” she asked, only a little strained. Her arm was sore and it was cold and why did this kind of stuff always happen to _her_?

“Hey, I’m great at math. Had a first-rate tutor.”

“I will _pay_ you.”

“Taking your money, V? Wouldn’t dream of it.” He seemed like he was enjoying himself, hunkering down with his hands folded around the mop, comfortable, like settling in for a chat.

Sincerity? A tad difficult when trying to protect oneself from the world that obviously hated her. But she did what she had to do. Veronica sighed, closed her eyes, centering herself. When she opened them again he was still watching, a puzzled frown in place, like trying to figure her angle.

Wow, she wished she had an angle here. All she really had was the truth and damn did she hate it when that was her only recourse.

He was much, much better at reading her than she’d thought. Oh, she knew he was good, but it only took him one look and his jaw clenched. He nodded, casting his face in off-center shadows, before he disappeared, back toward the macho clanging of the boys getting in from their very unexpectedly-late practice.

The time between breaths expanded, stretching into a seeming forever, the fact of her nudity somehow more present now that someone else had made it real. It could have been a dream, a farce, a joke in this grimy, desolate hallway. ‘Ha ha, look at the naked girl behind the cardboard, no wait, she has a hand towel to preserve her modesty.’ It was the beginning of a sketch comedy piece.

Except. Except it so wasn’t, this was her life, here and now, this was where her snooping landed her.

But that could go depressing places and besides, Weevil had reappeared, a fluffy white towel—obviously snitched from the boys’ locker room, only athletes got stuff this nice—held spread in his hands and a satisfied grin in place, like getting it was just as much fun as the reason he’d needed to get it. 

He started toward her and an instantaneous flash of horror gripped her, skating across every nerve, the heart-pounding, breath-stealing kind of fear that had her pressing back into the wall.

“Wait! Stay over there. Throw it to me.” On some level she was overreacting. Veronica knew she was overreacting. This would not be the first time a boy had seen her mostly naked—but it would be the first time _this_ boy had seen her mostly-naked and somehow that made it different. 

And it was one thing for him to see her from five feet away, but any closer? Not happening.

Weevil smiled, shark-like, enjoying this like it was so much unintentional comedy. “Oh, yeah? And which hand you gonna drop to catch it? Tell me so I know where to look.” The white contrasted with his hands, the shadows the overheads cast them in. The towel was almost menacing in its purity but really, was that what she was reacting to?

No. The point was he had a point. Veronica _hated_ his point. And her life. Possibly not in that order.

With no way out of it and no better option she stood straight, shifting away from the wall and gritting her teeth. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could go nurse her shame. In private. Away from scary-gentle boys who saw too much and guessed at more. “Fine,” she ground out.

Weevil moved toward her, the towel spread in his hands. He kept his eyes on hers as he carefully wrapped it around her body—wrapped his _arms_ around her body—holding it closed behind her back as she maneuvered her arms out from underneath so she could grip the towel and tuck it close to her. 

Weevil didn’t say anything through all of it, just breathed steadily and watched her face, watched her not look back, though she could see from the corner of her eye. It was both good and weird. Good that he wasn’t cracking jokes—there were some things a girl couldn’t take, even Veronica. Weird, to be so close to him, with him practically touching her, and _not_ to be slinging words at him.

Even weirder that he was warm, that of course he was warm, she knew that, but knowing it and feeling it were vastly different. As she’d just discovered.

“Wow, awkward,” she said without thinking, as Weevil pulled his hands back, but didn’t move back, just stood there, head tilted and eyeing her. Differently this time, evaluating, but so, so soft.

Then the weirdness of the moment was over, then he slid back to lascivious smirking.

That she could handle.

“Do I want to ask how you got into this predicament?”

“Points for the SAT word,” she snarked, automatic. His eyes flashed so she plowed right on. “Would you believe me if I said the lacrosse team, some really unfortunate mouth vomit, and a banana?”

He blinked, shaking his head once as he took a large step back. “Well, now I don’t really wanna know.”

Veronica smiled, really trying to find the humor. This would be funny. In about ten years. “Probably a good choice.” She paused, nodding to him. “Thanks, Weevil. I owe you one.”

His eyes flicked down her again, like he was imagining what was underneath. _Recreating_ what was underneath. “You could always drop the towel. We’ll call it even,” he said, solemn.

Veronica raised her hand…and let the hand-towel float to the floor. She smiled, sweet. She’d pat him on the cheek if she dared get that close to him again. Which she did not, not with the weirdness of tonight and her lack of clothing. “I really need to start asking for more favors if you’re gonna be this easy.”

“Girl, I’m always easy. But I probably shoulda seen that one coming,” he admitted, nodding.

“You really should. It’s okay; those verbal sparring skills of yours will come back to you once you start seeing more of me.”

“I’ve seen more of you in the last three minutes than the last three years.”

“Hope you enjoyed it. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I did. And I will. For many happy years.” He closed his eyes, face going intent. “I really will,” he murmured, eyes still closed, and she really didn’t want to know just what he was picturing. Sometimes she thought telepathy could be useful. Now? Not so much.

“‘Kay, now I’m creeped out.” She cinched the towel tighter, sliding it around do she could hold it closed more easily. The ends fluttered around her knees. It really was a nice towel he’d found.

Weevil opened his eyes. “Need help washing that unclean feeling off? Scrub your back?” he asked, sincere, all helpful-like.

“Fine,” she said, grudging. “I take back the verbal sparring barb.”

“‘Bout time. Now go put some clothes on. Don’t want strange men eyeing you up.” He waved to her body with a proprietary hand, glancing back toward the locker room without thinking, almost a nervous gesture, and that was another oddity, right there.

She laughed it off—she was good at that—and scooted around him, walking in the opposite direction, toward the dumpster behind the building. Hopefully someone had found her pile of mud-and-grass-stained clothes and thrown them out. 

Weevil’s eyes traced over her as she padded across the cold tiles, her feet not making a sound, like she wasn’t even there. But she could feel him watching her and that made it real.

She didn’t look back.

***

Fin.


End file.
